A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson (golden son ebook .TXT) 📕

He cut towards the line of large boulders running back towards the gunman’s hiding spot and dropped in behind them, breathing a sigh of relief.

Clinging to the seaweed-covered slab he carefully peered around the edge.

He was rewarded with the satisfying sight of the hooded figure still in his hiding spot, his back to Pieter, and unaware of the policeman just yards from him.

And Nina Bakker, the little girl he had spent so long looking for, she was there too. After all this time, after all the lows and the disappointments, the fruitless searching, finally he had found her. Here she was, almost within touching distance, her wrists tied together with a length of nylon rope, her clothes wet and torn, her hair clotted with dirty sand, but seemingly unharmed.

All he had to do was raise his gun and fire at the gunman’s back and finish him off, and her long and terrifying ordeal would be over.

But just as he started to bring his weapon up the movement must have caught her eye for she turned just then and saw him, this strange man with his dishevelled appearance and bloodied mouth and soaking wet clothes and his haggard-looking eyes, rising up from the rocks like some frightful sea creature, and she gave a small involuntary gasp.

The man beside her spun and saw Pieter crouched nearby, and he grabbed Nina and threw his arm around her neck and pulled her over, wedging her frail and shaking body against his own, and he pointed the barrel of his rifle straight up beneath her chin and pushed it hard against her throat.

“Come on, you bloody bastard cop!” he snarled in a thick South African accent. “I dare you!”

Pieter leaned over the boulder with his firearm pointing at the man, but Nina was in between them, stopping any chance of a clear shot. Her small face crumpled and he watched her mouth open as she started to gasp for air.

“Is that what you want? Then do it!”

The gunman’s face was pitted and weather-beaten and suntanned, and his steady gaze was that of a cold and ruthless killer and Pieter had very little doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. He swore to himself and lowered his weapon and stepped back, hands raised.

It was all the opening the gunman needed. He dropped the barrel of his rifle, levelled it towards Pieter and fired one-handed from the hip, and the round struck the boulder, zinging off the stone into the sky. Pieter fell away and went down into a rock pool. There was a scream, and when he pulled himself back to his feet he saw the gunman was running out along the spit of land, pulling Nina along with him.

Pieter clambered out from behind the boulder and stepped awkwardly from stone to stone with his arms stretched out to either side to keep his balance. Jumping down onto the dirt track that connected the narrow headland to the dam, he raced forward onto the pebbles, his feet slipping and sliding on the uneven surface.

The gunman was already about halfway along the spit of land and approaching the cluster of machinery, one hand still maintaining a hard grip on Nina’s upper arm. Pieter could see her struggling, and her screams and begs for mercy was heartrending to hear. He watched as the man gave her a shake to quieten her, and Pieter felt his fury reach a peak, making him push on with even more vigour.

It occurred to him that he should call for some support. He had their man trapped, and there was nowhere for him to go, but he needed help.

He reached for his walkie-talkie on his belt, but when his hand failed to find it he looked down in alarm. Damn, he must have lost it somewhere. Probably when he fell into the rock pool.

He could use his mobile, but it was standard practice during an operation for phones to be turned off lest their signal interfered with police communications. In all likelihood, Dyatlov and the other operatives wouldn’t have turned theirs back on yet.

Up ahead he saw the man slide to a halt and turn back and bring his rifle to his shoulder, and Pieter ducked low as the gunman loosed another shot in his direction. Then the man was running again, and seconds later Pieter watched as the gunman and Nina disappeared amid the jumble of cranes and dumper trucks near the end of the headland. Pieter jumped to his feet and gave chase.

He could feel his lungs labouring and the muscles in his thighs screamed with agony from running over the uneven pebbles underfoot, and blood pumped through his temples painfully, but a minute later he reached the relatively solid ground of the deserted construction site where the tracked vehicles had compacted the land flat.

Moving beyond a huge yellow excavator he paused beneath the archway of its long mechanical arm and looked around, hoping to catch sight of them amidst the abandoned construction equipment and pickup trucks and prefab huts.

Everything was still, and the only sound was that of the waves on the far side, their booming and crashing heightening the sense of isolation in the desolate spot.

Pieter trod quietly, moving carefully around the site with his firearm aimed forward. He hardly dared to breathe in fear of giving himself away.

He stepped from spot to spot, using the machinery as cover, peering around each corner, checking below the huge tracked vehicles, glancing through windows.

All the while he could sense eyes watching him.

Rounding one of the mini diggers, Pieter drew to a halt.

There they were. At the edge of the pebble surf break, overlooking the frozen water on the sheltered side. The gunman was standing several feet away from Nina, he had his rifle raised and aimed straight at her. It seemed like he was waiting for Pieter.

He was grinning, which seemed like an unnatural expression for his hard face.